


lost but not alone any more

by ceserabeau



Series: Sterek AU One shots [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Verse, Alternate Universe - Space, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceserabeau/pseuds/ceserabeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Light from thermonuclear fusion of hydrogen into helium in its core creates spheres of plasma held together by their own gravity.” Stiles taps different points on the window, plotting an invisible map across space. “A multitude of fixed luminescence.”</p><p>Firefly AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost but not alone any more

**Author's Note:**

> Firefly AU. Title from _Ancient Light_ by Allman Brown. Derek is Mal, Stiles is River.

Derek doesn’t hear the footsteps, but he feels the way the air shifts in the cockpit, hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Soldier’s instinct, they called it in the war; it’s never quite gone away even after all these years.

“Something I can help you with, Stiles?” he asks, not bothering to turn.

There’s a huff, a sudden shift of weight on the grating that makes it squeak. “Bat,” Stiles says quietly, like that means anything. And then louder: “Permission to come aboard?”

It makes Derek turn. Stiles is standing there in the doorway, hand curled around the frame. His feet are bare against the floor; his toenails are bright blue.

“You know,” Derek drawls, “You ain't quite right.”

Stiles grins, flashing teeth. “That's the popular theory.” He takes a few delicate steps towards Derek, graceful like a dancer, before he pauses again, peering about. “Am I allowed to be up here?”

“Depends,” Derek says. “You gonna break anything?”

“No.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “No what?”

Stiles’ jaw works like he’s rolling the words around in his mouth. “No, _sir_.”

Derek grins at him. “Alright then.” He gestures at the consoles, the dials and switches. “It’s not like you could mess up any more than I do.”

Stiles creeps forward, so silent that Derek wouldn’t know he was there if he wasn’t watching. He expects Stiles to curl up in the co-pilot chair but instead he stands between the consoles, hovering at the top of the steps and turns his face up to the stars.

“They’re beautiful,” he says.

Derek finds himself smiling. “You couldn’t seem them, the planet I'm from. The pollution was so thick.”

Stiles nods. “Light from thermonuclear fusion of hydrogen into helium in its core creates spheres of plasma held together by their own gravity.” He taps different points on the window, plotting an invisible map across space. “A multitude of fixed luminescence.”

“I’m a little worried that what you just said made perfect sense,” Derek tells him.

Stiles turns to level him with a look, sharp but wry. “That’s because you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

It makes Derek laugh, loud in the quiet. “Maybe – but don’t go spreading that around, little albatross.”

The look Stiles gives him is soft and fond. “I like it when you call me that,” he says.

“I’ve never called you that before.”

“You have,” Stiles says, and taps his temple. “Up here. I remember. I remember everything – or maybe I remember too much.” He slides into the other chair, tucks his legs up under him; his toes wiggle against the leather. “Some of it’s made up, and some it can’t be quantified, and there’s secrets and whispers and –”

“Stiles,” Derek murmurs, “It’s okay.”

But Stiles just shakes his head. “I don’t belong. Dangerous, like the man said. Can’t be controlled, can’t be trusted. Everyone could go on without me. They could be what they wanted – could live simple, no secrets.”

Derek holds up a hand to stop him. “It’s not that bad, the way we live now. Ship’s still in the air. Haven’t been shot at in a while.”

Stiles’ lips thin. His fingers tap out a rhythm against the console, nails clattering as he drags then across the keys. Into the silence that stretches, he says, “You’re a good man;” adds a cheeky “ _Captain_ ,” when Derek raises an eyebrow.

“That’s not what you’re brother thinks,” he retorts.

Stiles pulls a face. “Scott thinks your brain is missing.”

It startles a laugh from Derek, and Stiles’ mouth stretches into a smile. In the light of the stars seeping through the window, his face is ethereal, glowing like the moon. His eyes look as black as the darkness outside; they make something in Derek ache.

“So, are you helping me fly this thing or what?” he asks, desperate to shatter the stillness that settles around them.

Stiles’ eyes turn sharp and interested. “Show me,” he says.

Derek finds himself standing, the chair spinning as he steps across the cockpit. “You know what the first rule of flying is?” he asks as he steps up behind Stiles, rests his hands on the back of the chair. “Well, I suppose you do, since you already know what I'm about to say.”

Stiles leans his head back into the space between Derek’s hands. “I do,” he says; “But I like to hear you say it.”

“It’s love.” Derek’s fingers inch forward until they’re touching the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, until he can feel heat and muscle beneath his fingertips. “You can learn all the math in the ‘verse, know these buttons and charts like the back of your hand – but you take a boat in the air you don’t love, she’ll shake you off just as sure as the turn of the world.”

Beneath him Stiles shifts, turning in the chair, and Derek’s hand skims along his collarbone to the open collar of his shirt. Then his feet are brushing down Derek’s shins, and he’s standing, toe-to-toe with Derek, crowding into his space.

“Keep going,” he says.

“Love keeps her in the air when she ought to fall down,” Derek tells him. “Tells you she’s hurting before she keens.” He takes a sharp breath as Stiles’ hands curl around his jaw. “What are –”

Stiles shushes him. “I know this part,” he says.

His breath tickles across Derek’s cheek, and Derek leans into it until his forehead is pressed against Stiles’, the two of them inches apart. “Tell me then, little albatross.”

“Makes her a home,” Stiles says, and in the darkness his smile blooms bright like an exploding star.


End file.
